Bootlegs

I'm down in New York city, and there's this disco that used to be a
church, called "The Limelight." So I did my little on-the-scene
investigation and went down with some friends one night, had to pay fifteen
dollars just to get in--I had to walk home (no, not quite.) We go up and it
was really bizarre. We come in, and first we walk by these sarcophagi on
the walls and stuff like that. I think the person that was taking the
tickets was dressed like a nun or something like that. They were showing
Ten Commandments on the video screens and stuff.

We walk into the main sanctuary part, go up the stairs to the
balcony--there's like two balconies--and the floor of this big church--I
mean, it must have been able to seat like a thousand people--is literally
jammed with probably 1,500 people dancing, and there's a video screen
showing the latest Madonna sleaze on the video and stuff like that. So I'm
looking down at this--scratch the Madonna sleaze--my mind starts drifting, I
imagine that this is Sunday evening and the deacons have devised this as a
way of getting new membership, right? [laughter]

So it's a very satirical song, but the point is--especially like in
California where I'm from you've got this country-club Christianity
springing up, where Christianity is supposed to appeal to the beautiful
people, and we try to get the right elements in our churches--the elements
that are going to give money and everything like that. That's not the
church's mission. Jesus talked about coming to heal the sick, not those who
are well, and so it's essentially a song against this idea of country-club
Christianity.

In the heart of Manhattan stands an old Presbyterian church that's been
converted into one of New York's hottest nightspots. My on-the-scene
investigation began with the required ritual of waiting with the anxious
crowd outside the entrance until a neo-Nazi doorman decided my shoes
wouldn't scuff up the dance floor. He then escorted my two stout-hearted
friends and me through the vestibule, past rows of authentic looking
sarcophagi (I had to look that word up, too) to the cashier ringing up
fifteen dollar admissions underneath a large cross.

We followed the beat to the sanctuary, just in time to catch a giant
video screen being lowered over the pipe organ to show the latest Madonna
sleaze for the two thousand boogie pilgrims on the dance floor. As I
watched in horrified fascination, I began imagining that it was Sunday
evening, and the church elders had devised all this as a way to attract new
members.

Sunday needs a pick-me-up?
Here's your chance
do you get tired of the same old square dance?
allemande right now
all join hands
do-si-do to the promised boogieland
got no need for altar calls
sold the altar for the mirror balls

It seemed an appropriate metaphor to illustrate "country club
Christianity".

My home state of California seems to lead the pack in establishing
"places of worship" where the beautiful people congregate to sprinkle a
little Christianity on top of their beautiful lifestyles. Most of us
(myself included) are guilty of wishing that Christianity were more
fashionable. (That's why we tend to flaunt "born-again celebrities" as if
they somehow made Jesus more credible.)

The balance is being lost. The Apostle Paul's example of becoming "all
things to all men" (in order to reach across cultural barriers) is being
twisted into a mandate to dilute the Gospel into a more palatable form, and
hopefully draw a trendier, more affluent flock.

Jesus said, "I am not come to call the righteous, but sinners to
repentance." "This Disco" is just another reminder that when the Church
loses that mission, it loses its reason for existing.

This song was inspired by moving to California, where things often revolve
around buzz words, demographics, trends, going-for-the-latest-thing. I think
the church out here many times has tended to reflect that--taking the film
company approach to marketing Jesus to the right people. But he didn't come
to reach those who care only about being upwardly mobile or feel they have no
need of a doctor. He came for those who know they need help, those who know
they are sick.

In the heart of Manhattan stands an old Presbyterian church that was
converted in the mid '80s into New York's famed Limelight Club. My on-the-
scene investigation began with the required ritual of waiting with the
anxious crowd outside the entrance until a neo-nazi type doorman decided my
shoes wouldn't scuff up the dance floor. He then escorted my friends and me
through the vestibule, past rows of authentic looking crypts, then up to the
cashier ringing up fifteen dollar admissions underneath a large cross.

We followed the beat to the sanctuary, just in time to catch a giant video
screen being lowered over the pipe organ to show Madonna's latest for the two
thousand boogie pilgrims jammed on the dance floor. My mind began to wander
(like it always does during Madonna songs), and I started to imagine it was
Sunday night, and that the church elders had devised all this as a way to
attract new members.

Most of us, myself included, are guilty of wishing Christianity was more
fashionable. But the Apostle Paul's example of becoming "all things to all
men" in order to reach across cultural barriers can sometimes be used as an
excuse to dilute the Gospel message, and hopefully draw a trendier, more
affluent flock.

[For further reading on this subject, please immediately purchase my
latest album Squint, paying particular attention to the song
"Jesus is for Losers."]